


The Way I See You

by FuzzyCrayon



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: A Sexy Professor, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Mike is a Professor, Who you get sexy with, collegeAU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 05:38:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2013015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuzzyCrayon/pseuds/FuzzyCrayon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fem!Reader has a crush on Professor Zacharius</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way I See You

**Author's Note:**

> Smut Warning, all characters 18+

The whisper of paper sliding beneath your door both startled and elated you. For weeks someone had been slipping small drawings into your dorm room. They always came on folded pieces of paper, and they were never signed. No matter how quickly you bolted to the door, the sender always managed to flee the hallway before you had a chance to confront them. 

The first drawing came nearly three months ago. Your roommate Krista claimed that she and her girlfriend Ymir found the drawing after returning from class. When she deposited the piece of paper in your hand, you opened it to find an inked image of yourself sitting on the quad. _This is from last week...._ The weather had been particularly temperate, and you couldn’t resist planting yourself down in the grass and burying your nose in a book. You hadn’t noticed anyone watching you..... But clearly someone had been. The drawing itself was lovely, small but rich in detail. Whoever drew it had studied you carefully, and seemed to revel in the intricacies of your physical appearance. No shadow on your face was left undocumented, the strands of your hair were inked so delicately they almost seemed real. _Do I really look this beautiful to someone?_ You were shocked and confused. Who would do something like this without signing their name?

Now your collection of portraits was growing impressive. You kept them sandwiched between the pages of your French textbook, and did your very best to resist studying them at every available opportunity. You knew it was unlikely, but sometimes you felt that if you’d stared at them long enough, you’d discover some clue as to who left them. You padded over to the door and stooped to lift the paper from the floor. Like always, it was folded it half with your name scrawled across the top. You carefully opened it, breath catching in your throat, as it always did, when you studied your portraits. This time the picture was especially unique though as it was the first not to be drawn from life. All the others where snapshots of your days on campus: you in the library, dozing instead of studying, you with your head thrown back laughing next to an unfinished sketch of Jean. Other times your admirer delivered sketches of your hands folded together, of your profile, and even of just your eyes, bright and sharp, each eyelash meticulously inked. 

This drawing was not like the others, however. It featured you sitting cross-legged in a patch of wildflowers looking positively ethereal. What truly struck you though was, for the first time ever, you were looking directly at your artist. Whoever imagined you this way must care for you greatly, because the depth of affection in your eyes was startling; they were practically burning. 

The longer you stared at the picture, the more frustrated you became. You were desperate to know who saw you in this light. Why didn’t they come forward? How long did they plan to keep this up? _Are these supposed to be clues or something?_ What were you _missing?_

“Is that another one of those creepy drawings, (Y/N)?” Ymir asked from her place on the floor. Before you had a chance to respond, she was up, plucking the paper out of your hands. Her eyes scanned the page before opening wide. 

“Holy shit,” she said, looking up at you, “Your stalker has got it _bad._ ” 

“Lemme see!” Krista shouted, holding her hand out to her girlfriend. She gasped quietly when she looked at your drawing, “Y/N, this one is beautiful!” 

Ymir snorted, “Krista, that shit is creepy.”

“It is not,” Krista said, a dreamy smile crossing her face, “It’s romantic”

“It’s _annoying,_ ” you finally spoke up, before grabbing the picture and sneaking it between a conversation exercise involving a trip to Le Boulangerie. Snapping the French text shut, you tugged a hand through your hair. “I wish they would just speak up or something.” 

“Have you tried to figure out who’s sending them?”

“You have no idea how many times I’ve tried, Krista. But it never makes sense! I mean, I feel like I’ve exhausted all the options at this point. Unless... It’s someone I’ve never actually talked to...”

“See,” Ymir laughed, “Like I said, creepy.”

You laughed with her, a bittersweet smile planted on your face. “Yeah I guess it kind of is. Anyway,” you were eager to change the subject, “What time is it, I’m TA-ing for the Sculpting class.”

“Nearly six,” Krista chirped, “Want to meet us in the caf for dinner?”

“I can’t today, sorry,” you said, tugging on your boots and collecting your things, “I’m helping Professor Zacharius grade papers, and the Art History majors tend to be extremely wordy. I probably won’t be back until late. Actually would you mind grabbing something for me?” 

“No problem,” Krista smiled, “Have a nice time!”

“Later guys,” you exclaimed before tugging your bag over your shoulder and heading out the door. Before it shut you heard Krista’s squeak of ‘goodbye’ and Ymir’s grunted ‘later.’

 

Fifteen minutes later you were making your way into the art building, using your hip to push the door open because your hands held two cups of piping hot coffee. Getting an On-Campus job had been part of your financial aid package, and you were lucky to have found one that you liked so much, and with such a dedicated professor. Mike Zacharius joined the faculty about eight years ago, and you’d worked for him for three of those years. Now it was the winter of your junior year, and you were pretty much convinced you had the best job on campus. The pay was great and the hours were never extreme. And best of all, Mike allowed you to clock-in even when he didn’t have work for you. He offered his office as a quiet place to study during these work-free hours, because he knew that, as a college student, you could always use the extra money. 

You entered his classroom and placed a steaming paper cup by his workspace, before retreating to his large private office to grab your work from the filing cabinet he reserved for you. Inside you found a stack of tests and an answer sheet. You sat down at your own desk, in the corner of the room, intent on getting to work. Halfway through your third exam, you started daydreaming. 

If you were truly honest with yourself, you’d admit you had a soft spot for Professor Zacharius. He was soft-spoken and gentle, handsome and tall, with his strong nose and broad shoulders. Not to mention he had that whole, hot older artist thing working for him, from the shaggy dirty blonde hair to the ever-present stubble on his well-cut jaw. You placed him somewhere in his early thirties, though his thick rimmed glasses aged him. More often then not, you would find yourself thinking that, at twenty-one, a thirty-something year old certainly, probably, maybe, definitely wasn’t too old for you. 

You often caught yourself staring as he conducted class. Mike seemed at peace in the quiet hours of studio time. Usually, he walked in slow circles around the room, offering gentle tips to his students. It almost made you wish you’d taken the class, because whenever a few quiet words were exchanged, the artists would always attack their projects with renewed fervor. It seemed that, while no one would describe Mike Zacharius as loquacious, his words were always chosen with care. 

Two hours later you heard the shuffle of moving students, and scrape of chairs that signaled the class’ end. Mike joined you in his office, depositing another stack of papers on your desk before sitting, silently, at his own. As usual, the silence was comfortable. When you reached for the papers, you noticed that Mike wrote you a small note, thanking you for the coffee and your hard work.

“You’re welcome,” you said, feeling your face heat up, “For the coffee I mean.”

Mike looked up from his own papers, “Hungry?” He asked, sliding his glasses off and pushing his hair back from his eyes. 

“No I’m alright, thank you, my roommate grabbed something for me before the caf closed.” He offered you a small smile before nodding once and returning his attention to his own massive stack of papers. You two continued in silence for another lengthy stretch of time. The only sound in the room was the scrape of pen against paper and the rustle of turning pages. 

The silence continued until Mike rose, presumably in search of more caffeine. Before he returned, you realized that you needed a copy of his grading rubric to continue working. You quickly walked over to his desk, _I know he keeps an extra one in here,_ but somewhere between the third and fourth drawer you were beginning to grow frustrated. _Where is that damn thing?_ There was only one drawer left to try, one that he usually kept locked, and you paused before reaching to open it. Against your better judgement, and eager to finish your work, you tugged the drawer open. The drawer was deep but nearly empty; inside sat an old fashioned fountain pen, an inkpot, and a small black notebook. You pulled the ink and pen from the drawer, placing them on the desktop. You gripped the notebook in your hands, fingers skimming across the soft leather of the cover. You tried to rationalize your snooping by holding onto the hope that the book held that missing copy of the rubric. You peeled back the cover.

The rubric wasn’t there, of course the rubric wasn’t there. You turned the pages quickly, heart thumping wildly in your ears. The notebook filled with sketches, all in ink, though plenty of the pages had been torn out and... _Oh my God._ You froze, dropping the leather-bound book and slapping a hand over your open mouth.

“Y/N,” Mike called from the doorway, eyes darting to the notebook that was lying open on his desk.

“Professor,” you squeaked, unable to stop your voice from cracking. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you were relieved that the mystery was solved, but you were still just so shocked. Mike... It never occurred to you that he could be the one sending the drawings. He was just the art professor you worked for, the one who made your heart race when he smiled at you, the one who’s handwriting you’d been staring at for three years, and _Oh, I’m an idiot._

“Why... Why didn’t you say anything?” You asked, trying to sound brave. 

He cracked a smile at you, “I never say much, Y/N.”

You stared at him for a long time, unsure of what to say but sure of what you wanted. Mike’s eyes were boring into yours, somehow both fierce and gentle. He cleared his throat, pulling his glasses off and pushing his hair back in that familiar way you’d seen so many times. “I understand if you don’t want to work with me anymore.” 

The words snapped you out of your stupor, and you marched over to Mike before slipping behind him to shut and lock the door to his office. He stared at you wide-eyed, silent as ever. You leaned against the wood, hoping you looked more confident than you felt, before slipping your hands beneath the fabric of your shirt and tugging it over your head.

“I don’t want that,” you said, praying that Mike would do more than just gape at you. He stayed still for what felt like an eternity. Finally, he stepped forward to grasp a lock of your hair and run it between his fingers. He pressed forward then, holding your firmly against the door by his warm, strong chest. He nuzzled the top of your head, fingers sliding forward to tangle in the hair at the base of your neck and making soft noises of pleasure. The scratch of his wool sweater against your nearly bare chest was electric as Mike cupped your face in his large hands. He pressed his lips against yours softly, kissing you more gently than you thought was possible. The shock of his warm hand brushing across your stomach made you gasp against his mouth, and he quickly slipped his tongue inside to taste you. His kisses grew deeper but remained slow and gentle. 

Mike’s fingers strayed to the button of your jeans as his lips continued over your jaw and down to your neck. There was no hesitation on your part when you commanded him to remove them, and Mike seemed more than pleased by your impatience. His movements were quick and assured, he was a man who knew what he wanted and after removing your pants and shoes, lifted you and walked you over to sit on the edge of his desk. You undid your bra for him as he tugged off his pants and sweater, standing before you with a pronounced tent in his boxers. His body was lean and muscled and you were desperate to see and feel more of him. He began kissing you again, before pulling back to cup your breasts in his hands and thumb your nipples. 

“Beautiful,” he grunted, before leaning forward to take your nipple into his mouth. You panted loudly, rubbing your thighs together to try and relieve the pressure in your core. Mike’s hand slid forward then, sliding into your panties to rub gently at your wetness.

“Mike, please,” you panted, pushing your hips forward to encourage him to slip his fingers inside you, “More.” He quickly gave you what you wanted, pumping his thick fingers in and out of your core while thumbing your clit. His mouth released your nipple to kiss you roughly, groaning loudly when you yanked his boxers down and wrapped a hand around his hot erection. His cock was thick and heavy in your hand, with a bead of pre-cum pooling at the tip. You thumbed the slit at the head, eager to return to return the pleasure he was giving you. You continued to gasp and moan against each other’s mouths before you pulled back. “Stop,” you commanded, “I want to come from you inside me.”

Mike growled loudly and ripped your panties down your legs, before shimmying out of his boxers. You laid back against his desk as he stepped forward, pushing your legs further apart. Your thighs settled against the defined muscle of his waist and he slid his hands against them, fingers digging into your soft skin. He aligned his hardness with your core then, teasing the head of his cock against your clit. Your body jolted each time he moved to push inside; you were nearly an incoherent mess due to his teasing. “Mike,” you whined, “Need you.”

He snapped his hips forward then, slamming so deeply inside you it sent your head reeling back to smack against the desk. He felt incredible, hot and hard, hips driving with so much force the desk squeaked against the floorboards. Neither of you would last long, if your loud moans were anything to go by. Mike’s hands gripped tightly at your hips, pulling you forcefully as he pounded you into the hardwood. The pleasure was nearly blinding, each snap of his hips drove the air from your lungs. Mike paused for half a second, adjusting the angle of his thrusts so that they drove into the sensitive spot inside you. He grinned down at you when you screamed out your pleasure. “Right there, right there!” You sobbed, hands scrambling on the desk. They were met with cool liquid, but you couldn’t stop to think why when Mike leaned down over you, to kiss you. With one final thrust you came undone, practically howling against Mike’s lips as your orgasm ripped through you. 

Mike’s hands slid up to briefly grasp yours, before gripping your waist and thighs again as he released inside of you. He collapsed on top of you then, breathing wildly as you ran your fingers against the muscles of his shoulders. Once he caught his breath, he leaned up a little to smile at you.

“My beautiful Y/N,” he said, running his lips against your jawline, “How long until you graduate?”

“I’ve got a year and a half left.”

“Hmm, well I guess we’ll just have to be careful,” he said. He pressed a kiss to the back of your hand then, staining his lips black with the ink you two knocked over during your lovemaking. 

You two shared a smile then, before helping each other to dress and exit his office. Mike kissed you passionately, before knotting his scarf around your neck and unlocking his office door. The kiss was full of promise, and left you warm all the way across the snowy campus and into your door room. 

Ymir and Krista were exactly where you left them and greeted you when you walked in. You quickly ate what Krista saved for you, famished by your late night activities. You thanked her before shrugging out of your clothes, intent on making your way into the bathroom in just your bra, panties and a towel for a quick shower. Your body ached in the best way, and your phone chimed with a goodnight message from your all-time favorite professor. Before you had a chance to wrap a towel around yourself, Krista called your name. 

“(Y/N), why is there ink all over you?”

“Oh my God!” Ymir shouted, “Are those _handprints_?” 

“Ugh...” You bolted to the showers, cheeks burning, too embarrassed to explain just yet.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a request!  
> As always everyone, thank you for reading <3
> 
>  
> 
> SNK and the bae Mike belong to Isayama  
> And you belong to Professor Zacharius


End file.
